Chronoprohiberis
by SamNny
Summary: It had never been an issue until now; but when your path crosses with brass tresses and the greenest blue eyes you've ever seen, some things just have to change. You've just got to get out.
1. Chapter 01 - Asuka Tachibana

_I can see into your soul. I can touch every part of you, feel every bit of anxious self-righteousness, and caress every deep worry of punishment. I breathe truth, shower in its pure honesty, and revel in its perpetuating justice. It lives and dies within you, simmering till its bursts, escaping through your veins. And I'm here to tell you that sometime's all it's saying is, "Get out while you still can." _

_Like all things, a soul can be stained, saturated with an ugly top coat of snotty aristocracy and a black smugness of death and pestilence. People aren't as flattering as they'd like to believe themselves to be. No matter how much work they do to the physical, what lies underneath will never ring false. People don't seem to like that very much._

_I could latch on to lighter things I find within them, but... it's just so much more amusing to tell people how vile and worthless they are. A darkness like that can only be washed away with a light that you can't find around here. A light so bright, so encasing, and so __**real**__,__that it doesn't exist within a hundred mile radius of this place. This place. Nothing good exists in this place, anyway._

-\*/-

The city streets were always cluttered at this time of day. Faceless people all marching around in disarray, looking for this and that in a terribly unorganized fashion. What was it about noon that seemed to throw people into a stupid fit of chaos? Bells would chime as bodies piled in and out of shop doors, the sound once categorized as music was more to be considered as a nuisance. Still, they rang, and false greetings of cheer and enthusiasm were exchanged between shopkeeper and customer, never once breaking character to realize their own horrors. They were tangled in a web of lies, trapped in a hopeless game of charades forever, and they let their invisible puppeteers do all the work. It was being human made easy.

But nothing was more sickening than a man paid to tell the truth, yet he was accused of being a liar. All day, every day, it mattered not; for when the cards were laid on the table, it was still the customer who was always right. How sadistic, one young man would think, that his gift of honesty would be brushed off as a rude, cruel attitude, while his clientele would be praised for never being at fault. Perhaps he just didn't understand people. It was more likely, however, that he just didn't understand business.

The Lost Ground. _This place _was so far gone; it practically died and went to Hell. You have one catastrophic earthquake and then the government damns you as forsaken property. It's an island now - _this place _- and it thrives on liars and violence. There's no honest work here. If you weren't part of the half-assed team of relief aid that the government sent in, you didn't have a real job. You were a bum - a drifter - and you had nothing going for you. And all of those supplies they so graciously allot to you, well, it just turns out to be the mainland's table scraps. They were just throwing the dogs a bone. One bone. To share amongst a couple thousand people.

Businesses in the area were a constant target for thugs and vandals. If you even looked like you had anything worth wanting, they'd take it from you. What was yours was never yours, and what was theirs was government property. All your money, all your food, all your clothes - gifts from those better off than you. Except they weren't really gifts. How many people have come through here with shoes two times too small for them? Well over a dozen. Today, that is.

You had some luck if you could pack up and move around. Traveling shops were all the rage these days. It didn't look very professional if you drove into some town, opened up your back seat, and started selling off your stuff; it sure got the job done, though. And those a little better off had trailers. They'd hitch them up and turn them into stands. Park somewhere, do a little shuffling around, and pretty soon you had a front desk, a sign, and some merchandise on display. It was interesting to see, almost kind of fancy, and it was definitely popular.

The downside to wonders like that? Unsafe travel. Your odds were pretty good once you were set up somewhere. Stay a few days, sell off some stuff, buy some supplies - it was a good deal. Once you hit the road, though, it's where things got rough. Soon as you exited city limits, you were a moving target for outer city robbers.

The Lost Ground had many towns and mini-cities, but the island as a whole was divided into two sections. You either resided in the "inner" or "outer" land area. If you were in the "inner," you were first up to receive help from the mainland. Not that the help did much good. You had more access to food, clean water, and prospects for shelter. As for those in the "outer," they seemed just as well off. They were takers, so eventually everything got passed around. It wasn't fair, it wasn't clean, and it wasn't nice, but it was reality, and that was something everyone accepted.

People have been trying to leave _this place _for more than ten years now, but it's damn near impossible. The earthquake, codenamed "The Great Uprising," killed three quarters of the skilled labor force. The other fourth were injured, trapped, or long gone by now. When the mainland finally sent help, they weren't offering to ship people out. No, your only chances of leaving were if you had enough bargaining chips. If you could convince the government that you had something to offer - a medical background, civil engineering experience, or high end connections, for example - then you could barter your way to the mainland. Costs were high, but people did what they thought they had to for a ticket out.

Rumors spread a couple months back saying that there was another way out. Local gossip stated that if you could get in good with H.O.L.D., they'd find a way to extradite you. H.O.L.D. was the mainland's souped-up version of the police force. Once the tremors from the earthquake stopped, H.O.L.D. was immediately sent in to control the unraveling chaos and dysfunctionality. Survivors were thrown into a pit of madness, total and unfathomable maelstrom. Their homes had been destroyed, their loved ones taken from them, their jobs were swallowed whole; they had nothing left. Most were injured, bleeding and bruised, and in need of help. They would wander around for days trying to find medical supplies and food. Some made it while other withered away. Talk about the circle of life in action.

So when chatter started coming about that H.O.L.D. could be persuaded, their building got flooded. Their small branches were practically taken over; people stormed those buildings and cornered the officers inside. Their headquarters had to be put on lockdown for two weeks while civilians patrolled the building. They just wanted in, just wanted to talk, but it was all too much. Quite frankly - it was done all wrong.

Once the "takeover" failed, and the people scattered, a new branch of H.O.L.D. called H.O.L.Y. was formed. These guys were the best of the best; they were smart, they were fast, they were strong, and, most importantly, they were fierce. They laid down the law almost instantaneously, quickly startling the disorderly disaster victims. They herded people like sheep into these now created towns and areas. They played by a whole different set of rules and most were convinced that they acted illegally. That's all washed up news for another day, though.

The point of all this is that getting off this island was supposedly still possible. Even with H.O.L.Y. in place, people could still see those in charge. They were pretty specific about the things they wanted in exchange for your escape, but... people were desperate, and as far as they were concerned, beggars couldn't be choosers. They said that women were subject to pretty much the same treatment. If you were attractive enough, you could pass yourself around to a few officers and get a ticket out. The problem was that sometimes they liked you a little too much. If you were _too _good with your services, it was suspected that you would be locked away for further use.

Other women were different. If you were more on the plain side, or, to be really harsh, if you were just unsightly, you would either be ridiculed or put into servitude. To save the government some money, they'd say that they hired some "help" from the Lost Ground. The truth was that no one was actually paid for their work; it was you paying to leave. That's just how these sort of things worked.

As for men, it was pretty hit or miss. If you had certain desirable traits or talents, they could be exploited. If you were strong enough, they would use you for manual labor. Some people volunteered to be lab rats for the mainland's doctors, exposing themselves to experimental drugs and treatments. It wasn't safe, to say the least, but it happened quite regularly, apparently.

But words and banter like this were mildly unhelpful to a cynical young man in Barthome. He sat rigid in his seat, eye-to-eye with yet another unsatisfied customer. He worked as a master of parlor tricks in a rundown trinket shop on the edge of town. His fortune telling abilities were supposed to draw in more business, but all it seemed to be really doing was pissing people off.

"What do you mean my future looks bleak and lonely? I won't spend the rest of my life alone!" It was the ravings of yet another vain town witch who thought that she would have everything handed to her. "I'm beautiful!" they'd say. "My family was very important around these parts!" they'd swear. "I've got a great personality!" He was done listening to their self defense and obvious denial. Shouldn't people go to people like him with an open mind? You might not always like what you hear; or was he the only one to consider that?

He took a glance back to the shopkeeper only to receive a menacing look. This would be the third customer this week that he'd drove away. The gig was set up so that the happy customer with their lovely good fortune would make a purchase. No happy customer meant no sale. No sale meant no paycheck. So the imperial-haired man put on a foul smile and made nice on his part. "Terribly sorry ma'am, the Eternity Eight must be a little cloudy at the moment. Could it be the fact that you're so high strung? Tension usually blocks the clearer picture."

Even with the sweetest lie, a dissatisfied customer will remain repugnant. Not a single sale was made.

The Eternity Eight - a set of eight mossy orbs controlled by forces yet to be explored. If you could control them, they could do wondrous things. They could be arranged in a manner that shaped them into a sword, a bow, a shield - just to name a few. Instead, these mystical, and highly questionable, items were used to read souls. They lined up against a person's major extremities. In order to get the best reading, the balls would line up against one's forehead, over the heart, both glenohumeral joints, both anterior faces of the feet, and one at the cervical and lumbar spine. Once properly aligned, it is believed that the Eternity Eight feed off of thermal energy, computing it and turning it into readable data. Once the data is processed, a message of sorts is sent to the user in the form of their fortune. Sometimes the message was as vague as, "good luck will come your way." to as specific as, "the one you love will fall for someone else. Peril and misery await you soon."

The user had no control on how detailed the information would be, but if they could relax the customer, they had the ability to delve deeper. The harder you pressed, the more that was revealed to you. Fortune telling and future reading almost went hand-in-hand, so it was important to be able to deliver meaningful context. Still, this was a poor man's job and he was seldom ever paid honestly for his work.

"There goes another one, Tachibana. If you keep this up, I ain't gonna have no business at all. How you expect to get paid if 'm not, huh?" The shop owner growled in frustration, silently wondering why he even bothered to keep the young kid around. He used to be good for business, he was exciting and fresh, but now... now he was more like business deterrent.

"You pay me to tell people's fortunes. What's the point in doing so if I don't tell the truth?"

This was only the beginning for Asuka Tachibana.

* * *

Authors Note: 01/19/2014

_Glenohumeral joints _- shoulder joints

_Anterior_ - front

_Cervical_ - neck

_Lumbar_ - lower back

This is the prologue of what I hope to make out to be a great AU s-CRY-ed fic. Please continue reading for further plot.


	2. Chapter 02 - Cammy Aomori

_The sun was always half way around the world when people chose to acknowledge my existence. I could slip in and out of rhythm with humanity, touch hands with a stranger as we passed, and breathe the same air as bureaucrats; I would still remain amorphic. Eyes never looked directly at mine; they passed right through my core. I might as well be a ghost, an intangible entity amongst the living. If such activities qualified as being alive._

_The night was my only ally, the only source of pure consistency around me. It was when I really became apparent, the faceless shadow guided by twinkling space lights in the sky. I moved swiftly, delicately, and precisely, all for the sake of taking. Having something that didn't belong to you was unreal, but more importantly, it was justified. In the end, the prevailing truth would always be that these things never really belonged to anyone at all. It was all stolen - tainted - goods; courtesy of those better than you._

_I found pleasure in my anonymity and I reveled in my power. I have what it takes to survive in a wasteland of cruel mercy. I have a __**purpose**__, if, for nothing else, to sustain myself. I didn't need direction, didn't need reason... I just needed to act. To move while others stood still. Morals didn't play a part in anyone's life, so why should it in mine? I just wanted to have ownership over something. That something was my existence._

-\*/-

Dusk was approaching at a rapid pace, the sunfall dawning on all those caught unaware. People's procrastination and lack of self motivation is what sent them into semi-chaos at the day's end. Forgotten chores and errands sent bodies hurling in every possible direction in hopes of accomplishing something. They were so clumsy, striding and running, you'd swear they would die if they didn't reach their destination. People were so amusing this way.

But people were people no matter what was going on. If they had reason to stop, they would treat others accordingly. If they were to take time out of their busy day to turn their head to look at you, it had better be worth it. Otherwise, the unruly consequences of a scoff, rolling eyes, or other such disgruntled actions would be your received payment. It was worthless and you couldn't use it anywhere, so don't bother seeking it out.

She was wearing a hat today. A plain, no-name, dusty sun hat. It was slightly too large for her, but it was precisely why she liked it so much. It was loose, making it unmistakably comfortable, and it was functional. So long as it didn't dip down and block her line of vision every few seconds, she found that it was acceptable.

She was a simple woman, wanting nothing but simple things, to put it simply. She woke up every day past noon, yawned and stretched her thin arms, and rolled out of bed. Preparations included hurriedly tying her hair into loose pigtails, washing her face, and throwing on whatever clothes were at her disposal. It didn't have to look good, didn't have to match, and it didn't always have to be clean. It was all about serving a purpose and fulfilling a need. So long as those objectives were met, she was satisfied.

Before the devastating earthquake had struck, she had been used to a bit more refined way of life. Her family was moderately well off; they owned a small townhouse of sorts near the edge of the city. She had since forgotten its name, finding that it didn't really matter anymore. It was cozy, just enough space for her and her family. Her father was a businessman, his work unimportant and fuzzy for her to recall, and her mother was a caregiver. Her parents were plain, she labeled them, and that was just fine by her.

They were a loving bunch, her mom and dad, and they tried their best to spoil their little girl. She always had cute dresses and ribbons, never extravagant, but never cheap. She was an adorable child who was only ever loved. Her mother was gentle, soft hands tenderly raking through her thick brown tresses. She had a reserved smile and a timid laugh, but it was always genuine and comforting; the best kind of anything. And her father was firm, eyes always tired and dulled, but nothing sparked them better than seeing her run about in her red and white checkered dress. Accompanied by white stockings and ruby red flats, finished off with a bow to tie back her hair, she was the apple of his eye.

She couldn't recall much about them, though she rather gave up on trying a long time ago. They were taken away by the earthquake, her mom being crushed when their roof collapsed, and her dad dying of internal bleeding three days after it all happened. She wasn't too young to remember, the incident happened when she was twelve, but the everyday details were a bit hazy and hard to recover.

She, herself, had been badly injured during the disaster. She had fallen dozens of times, scrapped her elbows and knees, and been hit by various tumbling structures. A light post, for instance, had descended directly upon her. It was cushioned by nearby rubble, but her shoulder still ached at the memory. She was grateful for having been so short back then. Regardless of the small stuff, after her father passed away, she took a nasty blow to the head. She woke up a few days later in a treatment facility. They pushed her out the door the moment she came to.

She'd had slight memory problems ever since, but it wasn't too bad. She could learn new things, remember a conversation from a week ago, had she actually had one, and tell you her current address, should she actually want anyone to know it. It was just the events before that she had difficulties with.

But she hasn't been an ordinary girl since then. She's what people call transient. She packs up and moves at random, sometimes buckling down for a month or two, other's for not even a week. Her actions were decided based slightly on the level of danger in whatever town she happened upon, but it was all really due to what it had to offer.

If the place had good resources, or at least sufficient ones, she was more than happy to stick around. She had no real job skills, not any worth mentioning, and she felt that it would be unfair to apply for a job with her lack of... permanence.

Housing usually meant a tent with broken sticks and a jammed zipper, while sleeping arrangements were a simple blanket and her arm as a makeshift pillow. The last one she had made her head incredibly itchy, so she tended to not rely on them. The blanket was thin, but her clothes were fairly heavy for what they were, so she made out alright. It wasn't like it got real cold in these parts. That kind of unsuitable weather was more often found down south.

A broken down and faded sign placed her in Barthome, and she had to admit, the place was crawling with slime. The air seemed stagnant, the only real scent filling it was filth and poorly manufactured beer. It was probably all homemade, she highly doubted that the government would waste their money importing it. It was repulsive, but somehow tolerable, and she walked through the streets with her hands dipped in her pockets, hat making her eyes almost impossible to see. Just the way she liked it.

She was scouting the area for two reasons today, one being that she needed a new location to pitch her tent, and the other being a bit more on the shady side.

A glimmer in the shop window caught her attention and she couldn't help but make her way to the front door. Any place with anything of value was like a magnet for her. When she pulled the knob, an irritating '_ding_' could be heard as the bell sounded above her head. It was only a minor nuisance, but this bell in particular was screaming at her to rip it down. It must be somewhat new.

"... you expect to get paid if 'm not, huh?" She flicked the edge of her cap, allowing her eyes to adjust to the slightly darkened shop. They landed on a burly man, slightly bald, with stark black hair. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, which perplexed her endlessly, and his speech was a bit lacking. He had an accent of some kind, but she couldn't place it. She followed to where she guessed his eyes were looking and found herself staring at possibly the most interesting young man she'd met to date.

"You pay me to tell people's fortunes. What's the point in doing so if I don't tell the truth?" He was tall, a nice slender frame, and very well groomed. His hair looked freshly washed, the most charming shade of purple that she couldn't name, and it was clean cut, even his slightly elongated bangs in the center of his forehead. It was very distinguished. His eyes were dark, a very notable shade of green, unlike hers.

He wore a lot of black, a lot of black that fit very well to his body. It was old and worn, but not tattered and dirty like a lot of people's clothes. They were plain, actually rather boring, but it suited him _very _well. He was, perhaps, the most professional looking man she'd encountered outside of a government uniform.

She wasn't given much time to stare, however, because as soon as she was spotted (how that happened, she had yet to figure out) the atmosphere had changed.

"Welcome, y'ng lady. Feel fr' to look 'round. If ya want, m'boy here can read yer fortune. How's 'bout giv'n it a try?" She took one incredulous look at him before turning back to the other man. He was looking right at her, those intense dark orbs seemingly piercing her skin. She felt like she was on pins and needles with that indifferent look on his face, but she faked a sense of composure. He slightly bowed at her, pulling out a chair for her to sit in, as he stalked to the other side of the table.

His hands swept lightly over some very precious looking balls splayed out in front of him. What were they made of? Marble? Glass? Whatever the case, they looked expensive. Valuable. She'd be willing to wager that having even one of them would give someone enough money to buy a decent meal and some new pants.

She drew in a deep breath, not wanting to lose her cool in the middle of her "investigation," and she took a seat across from him. He folded his hands and slouched his shoulders, instantly shrouding himself with an air of cool that she couldn't accurately describe. This man was unreal, she decided, and she didn't know what to call these surfacing feelings. He was good-looking, that's for sure, but there was something else about him that had her on edge.

"Very good then, ma'am. In order to begin, I'll need to you to relax, keep yourself as loose as possible, and tell me your name."

She took another breath before removing her hat and placing it on the table. Her bluish-green eyes collided with his as she said, "My name is Cammy. Cammy Aomori, to be exact. And what, may I ask, is your name, sir?"

He casually blinked before saying, "Asuka Tachibana," as he prepared himself to erect his Eternity Eight balls. Despite their now glowing halo, and her awe-inspired expression, she still managed to retort, "Asuka. I must admit... I don't like you very much."

A loud '_thud_' echoed throughout the building as the Eternity Eight ceased their glowing, and former hovering, and crash-landed back to the table.

* * *

Authors Note: 01/22/2014

Cammy does not have an official last name, so I picked a random one for her. She appeared so little, and with this being an AU, it's kind of hard to deem her in or out of character. Be your own judge of that.


	3. Chapter 03 - Something About Respect

_"This world of ours... must avoid becoming a community of dreadful fear and hate, and be, instead, a proud confederation of mutual trust and respect." - Dwight D. Eisenhower_

-\*/-

_"Asuka. I must admit... I don't like you very much."_

There were several long moments of heavy silence as mossy-green eyes stared at the figure across the table. He couldn't bring himself to just gaze directly into her own eyes, that would be preposterous. Seeing all of her made her more real. He was seemingly memorizing everything about her features, noting her perfectly heart-shaped face, her defined cheek bones... the lines and darkened circles under her eyes were especially outstanding. Her lips were pursed tightly into a thin line, but he carefully observed the dry cracks that marred what used to be soft, luscious skin, and he was rather taken by the light pink color that painted them. It wasn't lipstick, he was certain, and that made it all the better.

She was an average looking girl, at best, but he still couldn't strip his eyes away. He heavily considered whether his persistent gawking was due to her appearance at all, or if he was just more stunned than anything. He'd heard dozens upon dozens of people go off in an enraged frenzy about how much they didn't '_like him_,' some even going as far as to hurl objects at him. He'd kicked the table onto its side on more than one occasion to shield himself from such brutality. But he'd never been so inflicted by words before. Was it because he hadn't even had the chance to piss her off before she so bluntly stated her opinion? Or perhaps it was more due to the fact that she had said it so calmly? She had said it so matter-of-factly, and with such a straight face (a bored expression to accompany it), that he almost couldn't believe what was happening.

For the briefest second, his eyes flickered in the direction of the shopkeeper, and he'd instantly regretted it. His face was contorted, giving off a very unpleasant feeling to follow. His rigidly locked jaw gave off the idea that he was angry, for yet again his fortune teller had displeased a customer, but... his eyes were struck wide open. They were glimmering and twitching, a spark of something undetermined burning inside of them. His only logical conclusion was that he was trying to look upset - as he should have been - and, at the same time, mask his amusement while holding back a fit of laughter.

A small knot formed in the pit of his stomach and he almost felt like the room was getting smaller. How should he feel right now, he could only wonder? The woman had just blatantly insulted him, for what he could only guess was no good reason, and then she had the nerve to grab one of the Eternity Eight balls and start playing with it like it was a toy! She used her pointer finger to guide it in circles around the table while staring at it uninterestingly. Like the fact that she was asked to sit at his table was such a big inconvenience and she was bored to tears.

But there was something else stewing within him. Something he was uncertain about, but it only made him all the more curious. So, with self-control that even he didn't know he possessed, he relaxed his shoulders and said, "I beg your pardon?" in the most even tone he could muster.

Cammy lazily locked eyes with him and, without missing a beat, said, "I said what I said. I don't like you very much. Just thought I should be honest."

As if a small bomb had gone off, that curious feeling of his erupted within him. She might have been a million not-so-pleasant things right now, but she _was _something else that most people weren't - she was honest. She told him the truth, justified or not, and she meant it. Anyone could go off on a rampage about how much they hated every fiber of his being because of this or that, but even he knew that they were more mad at themselves for his being right. But this girl - _Cammy _- she just didn't care. She had no qualms about telling the truth and _that's _when he finally worked up the nerve to maintain eye contact with her.

"And why, pray tell, is that?" She finally resigned herself from playing with his ball as she carelessly rolled it in his direction. He was so preoccupied with her every-shade-of-blue eyes that he just let it roll right past him and off the edge of the table. She raised her brow at him in suspicion, not at all liking his uncomfortable demeanor. He seemed put-off and a little ticked, if she had to admit, but he still somehow managed to sport a look of desperate enthusiasm. It was mildly creepy, but she figured she'd hold off on telling him that. It seemed less risky that way.

She straightened herself up a bit, folding her hands in her lap. "Do I really need a reason? There's just something about you that bugs me. If I had to say something to the fact, I dunno, maybe it's because you look like an arrogant prick?" As soon as those words passed through her desert lips, a cacophony of laughter filled the room. It startled her, to say the least, as she turned around to see the shopkeeper clutching his sides and using the front counter to support his weight. It wasn't very often that you'd see a grown man be driven to tears from laughing too hard. What caught her off guard even more was a second wave of laughter coming from across the table.

She turned her head back, surprised to see Asuka using his hand to cover his mouth. He was trying to stifle himself, even if only a little bit, but it was hardly working. He might not have been as explosive as the other man, but he was just as annoying. She furrowed her eyebrows and clenched her teeth, feeling like there was some inside joke that she was missing out on. More importantly, she was the butt of this joke, it would seem, and she was hardly willing to stick around for their amusement.

Throwing her hands down onto the table, Cammy abruptly stood up, pulled down her hat, and turned to leave. The shopkeeper, voice still overrun with laughter, tried to reach out and stop her. He was ashamed of himself for laughing at the expense of a customer, but he just couldn't stop it. It was an unavoidable train wreck, he reasoned. She thoroughly ignored him as she made her way to the door, pulling it open and cringing at the sound of that God-awful bell. Seriously, what was it with that bell that made her want to pull her hair out?

She looked back one last time to see Asuka standing up, his laughter mostly faded away. Just as he was about to mutter an apology, she said, "I don't normally take such offense to a couple of simple-minded boys-playing-men." She started her remark harshly as she bore holes into his skull, "but I would suggest that the next time you have a lady in your presence, _especially _one you want to make a sale to, I would refrain from making a fool out of her. Pardon me for stating my opinion." Then she was gone.

It took a few more minutes for the store owner to recompose himself. He wanted so badly to just blame Asuka for what happened and call it good, but he couldn't. He was the one to break first, after all. The kid might have been a worthless pain-in-the-ass, but even he didn't deserve to be scolded after that. Not after what Cammy had just said, anyway. It might have been directed at both of them, but he could tell by how intently her eyes were on him that she was directing most of her fury at him. As far as he was concerned, he had gotten off easy.

But even though his superior had felt guilty, it was nothing compared to the wide range of emotions flowing through the young fortune teller. Sure, he realized that his laughter had been rude and uncalled for, but... but... she just didn't _know _why, exactly, that had been so unbearably funny! Here he was, day in and day out, _bitching _to himself about how people hated him for telling the truth, and then this girl just waltzes in and starts sputtering words that were so true it shook him to the _core_.

An 'arrogant prick' is what she dubbed him, and he felt that she couldn't have been more correct. He knew that he walked around with his nose stuck up in the air. He dubbed himself the only survivor with half a brain and any intact morals. He was a self-righteous, over-worked and under-paid, gifted human being. Everyone else walked around like they were oh-so important and special, but they were really just losers. They walked around like they owned the place, called shots, and demanded respect from people they'd never even met before. They said whatever they wanted, did whatever the Hell they felt like, and they didn't care about the results of their actions.

He wasn't much better, if he was honest with himself, because even though he showed enough respect towards others, he knew what he was saying behind their backs. Perhaps he was really just putting up a front to make himself _appear _more kind than he really was. He didn't really know anymore.

All that anyone knew at this point was that he'd been staring off into space for the last five minutes and his boss was getting a little concerned. He'd come out from behind the counter to gather up the Eternity Eight and shake some sense into his employee. He put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Kid. 'Ey, kid! Don' let what she said b'ther ya too much. 'N'fact, ya sh'ld be angry w'th 'er."

Asuka pivoted his head just a bit to raise a questioning eyebrow. The shopkeeper just shifted his arms and said, "I 'nly count sev'n balls."

That thieving bitch.

* * *

Authors Note: 01/29/2014

Not much to say here. Things just got a little more interesting. Keep a look out for the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 04 - A Guy in A Bar

_"If there is one realm in which it is essential to be sublime, it is in wickedness. You spit on a petty thief, but you can't deny a kind of respect for the great criminal." - __Denis Diderot_

-\*/-

All previous amusement and insights aside, Asuka found himself in a rather dire situation. With the economy being what it was (unstable and unkind, amongst many things) and his less-than-impressive résumé, he was currently at that unfortunate time in his life where a vital decision had to be made. It was a decision he'd been avoiding confrontation with since he'd arrived in Barthome, and for good reason, too. This decision needed to be carefully weighted, have a lot of thought put into it, and it most certainly could not be made hastily. Yet, the time had come, and he had all but since locked such tiresome thoughts in a metaphorical box to be pushed into the corner of his mind.

It was sickening to think that he only had a few moments to decide, lest he ponder what to do with the rest of his life for too long, and the girl slips away. She'd already been gone for upwards of seven minutes, giving her plenty of time to go God-knows-where. So, getting right to the heart of the matter, he supposed, he threw himself into internal debate-mode.

Should he decide to bolt out the door and search high and low for Cammy, he saw two potential outcomes. Either he would find her and retrieve his ball (she could fight all she wanted, he'd make sure to get what was his), thus successfully joining all eight balls together in order to function, and thus keeping his job. Scenario 'B' had an entirely different outcome, one that he really didn't know how to feel about. He could go out and hunt her down, but he had to consider the possibility that he'd never see her again. If she packed up and left town before he got to her, he could kiss his job (more like his paycheck; did he really care about a job where people lived to rip him apart?) goodbye.

And should he stay, well, it would have virtually the same effect as not finding Cammy. The only difference being that he would be fired on the spot for no longer having anything to offer _and _it would also convey the message, if only to himself, that it was O.K. to let people get away with stealing from him. Well, the truth was that it was most certainly _not _O.K. to take what was rightfully his, regardless of its significance to his employment. Of course that was it!

With a frightful sense of urgency, Asuka whipped around and snatched the seven balls from the shopkeeper's hand. He tore the tablecloth up, grabbing all four corners after placing the Eternity Eight (Seven?) in the center, and he used it as a makeshift bag. This way, if he did happen to fail, at least he wouldn't have to come wandering back for his belongings. He could just go home and reflect on the lack-of-meaning of life. After all, what good would breathing do to a man who could no longer afford the roof over his head? A man who could no longer afford to put food on his table? Clothes on his back? There would be no point to a life like that, though he highly doubted he'd take drastic measures. He'd just wallow in misery until hunger forced him to take action.

Asuka didn't want to imagine himself in such a pathetic state any longer; it was too real of a possibility to be seriously considered without first taking alternative steps. Steps like finding Cammy and choking the life out of her for stealing from him, perhaps. Yes, that sounded much more fun and adventurous.

His feet hit the pavement with a loud '_thud_' as he raced down the street. The crowds of people were still pretty thick, but a narrow gap of space had opened up in the middle of the road, and he was going to take advantage of it.

His head swiveled from side-to-side, eyes darting around the area like a ping-pong ball. He was looking for any sign of dirt-colored tresses and khaki-like shorts. He didn't even bother to factor in her oversized hat, but it hardly concerned him at the moment. Brown hair, light shorts. Brown hair, light shorts.

It was exasperating, but not shocking in the least, that a majority of the women walking around had brown hair, and, of course, were wearing light pants. Not necessarily shorts, not necessarily khaki, but it was such a broad filter that it left too much room to catch his attention. So, he instead tried to hone in on muddy locks tied in pigtails, and highly exposed, long, pale legs to go with those shorts. Surely that would yield better results.

He turned a couple street corners, peered in a few shops windows, and harassed a small child who looked older than she really was, before he waltzed into a random bar. There were many pubs in Barthome, it was a place where most of the revenue was derived from the manufacturing, bottling, and selling of alcohol. It was cheaply made, overpriced, and it tasted awful. Potent stuff, really. A couple bottles of most any drink around here could cause blindness or some shit like that. It wasn't exactly regulated and government approved.

Asuka went right for the table in the corner of the room. After running around for a good ten minutes, then dealing with that little harassment issue, the day was damn near over. He had, regrettably, not found Cammy, therefore not finding his eighth ball. Without all eight, his little "parlor trick" wouldn't work, and that meant he was out of a job. Visions of his previous run-through of such a scenario popped into his head and he groaned. What was he supposed to do now?

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, opting to practically lay on top of his table with his head down as he tried to get his brain fired up. He wanted so badly to stay optimistic, trying to convince himself that maybe Cammy was still in town. If that was the case, he could always look for her again. If she wasn't getting ready to leave town, she was certainly laying low for the night, and that meant he could find her tomorrow.

Part of him wanted to put together a strategy for finding her, especially now that he had time to properly think. Assuming the best, should he wait until early in the morning to try and get the jump on her before she wakes up? Or should he hold out until later in the day when she believes she's in the safe confines of the crowd? Would a girl like her live closer to the center of town or on the outskirts? Could she possibly be armed, and if so, with what?

Rather than indulge himself, though, the realist in him decided to rear its ugly head, forcing him to face facts. Whatever the story was with Cammy, she was probably getting her things together to head out. It was incredibly dangerous to leave in the middle of the night, but, then again, there never really was a safe time to travel. It just wasn't an achievable goal in this day and age, sadly. There was always a great risk involved with moving. Even if you weren't a traveling salesman, being a young, acceptable looking young woman, wandering out unaccompanied was almost worse. She might as well have a target painted on her if that's what she was planning on doing.

"Stupid woman, running off with my ball..." he mumbled to himself, "If she goes off and gets attacked, I'll really never see it again." The thought of his ball being taken by yet another stranger made his heart sink further. Surely, in the hands of someone more malicious, all of his hope would be lost.

In the middle of all of his wallowing, Asuka failed to notice the trio of men surrounding his table. They were tall, they were thick, and they were abhorrently drunk. It was only when a hand slammed down on his shoulder and grasped him tightly did he jerk his head up in their direction.

Standing across from him was a broad-shouldered man, about six-foot and a couple inches, with the thickest blonde mustache Asuka'd ever seen. His hair was short, marvelously curly, and his eyes were a pale shade of brown. They were bloodshot, of course, but brown nonetheless.

The man next to him was just a tad bit shorter, but he appeared to be built like an ox. Muscle was seeping from him from head-to-toe, and his steel-grey eyes were harsh and cold. He wore a hat of some kind, obstructing the view of his hair, but his skin was heavily tanned, arms covered in thick black follicles.

That just left the man clutching Asuka, and he was very reluctant to turn around to face him. All he could see from the corner of his eye was a wicked grin, showing off a set of stained yellow teeth, and cracked lips. He was unnaturally tall, a bit on the heavy side, but his... _vigorous_, vice-like grip said that he was plenty powerful. He had the wildest pair of bloody-hazel eyes, signaling to Asuka that these men wanted to do more than just talk.

The golden-maned man, otherwise known as the 'Boss,' smirked, placing a hand down on the table. He leaned in a bit, closing off some of the distance between him and Asuka. He absolutely reeked of poorly brewed vodka, but that was hardly the thing to say at a time like this. All he could do for the moment was try to appear as calm and confident as possible. Perhaps if he didn't seem like someone who was easily rattled, these wasted buffoons would leave him be.

"Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?"

* * *

Authors Note: 03/18/2014

I'm not bothered at all by the fact that it's taken me almost two months to update. With this fandom being _dead, _it gives me the perfect opportunity to write this at my own pace. Hopefully someday, someone will stumble upon it and leave a review. I can dream, right?


End file.
